


familia ante omnia (family before all)

by gold_rush



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: City looking after their own, Endeavour wants to help, Friendship, Gen, Hook-up gone wrong, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Max is hurt, Physical Abuse, Referenced violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 07:50:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9481736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gold_rush/pseuds/gold_rush
Summary: Morse notices that Max isn't quite right. So, he decides to find out why and help him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Deals with violence. See the end notes for the details.
> 
> Also, this is my first foray into Endeavour fanfiction, hello! 
> 
> It might turn into Morse/Max, but it might not. Friendship is good.

It's his necrophobia. Morse only notices there’s something not quite right because he can't face glancing down at the man laid out before him in the mortuary, his eyes drifting instead towards the doctor. Taking in his bright bow tie, his spotless glasses, the intricate pattern-work of his knitted vest, and the way in which his eyes seem off somehow. But, aside from this subtle difference, Max DeBryn seems his usual bright self - filling Morse in on the details, and aiding their investigation, by explaining in great, poetic detail how the discolouration of the body suggests prolonged poisoning.

 

‘As you can see by looking here...’ The doctor is saying, gesturing downwards towards where Morse knows the dead man’s head must be. But Morse doesn’t see, he doesn’t even try to. Thankfully, Max is not expecting Morse to look anyway, and when they share eye contact for the briefest of moments, the pathologist’s lips curve into a gentle but understanding smile. Not pointing out how silly it must always seem to him - a detective unable to stomach the grimmer, corporeal aspects of the job.

 

Instead, to avoid missing anything of significance or value, Morse makes copious notes; writes down almost everything Max has to say, except for the jokes, because that doesn’t seem appropriate somehow. (Even though they both laugh.) However, on this occasion, the detective’s concentration keeps waning and there are sizeable gaps in his scribbling, his eyes pulling back to Max time and time again. He’s not sure why, not at first, but then he sees it. Plain as day. The painful furrow of the doctor’s brow every time he raises his arm anywhere beyond hip level. Morse glances over at the clock on the wall, he’s been with Max for almost half an hour. How had it taken him this long? He’s almost embarrassed by it. Would be, in fact, if he didn’t have more pressing matters on his mind. He lets the hand clutching his notebook fall to his side, then he slips the paper into his pocket as he turns towards the doctor; his face a picture of cautious concern.

 

‘You're in pain,’ Morse states evenly, and it’s definitely not a question. His pen pointing directly towards the doctor’s upper-left arm.

 

Max frowns, momentarily startled by the unexpected interruption, before he hums and says, ‘It’s just a little bang, I'm afraid; certainly nothing worth worrying that bright brain of yours about. Not now there’s a serial poisoner on the loose.’

 

‘You do know that saying that doesn’t make me worry any less?’ Morse replies honestly before he adds, ‘What happened anyway? It’s nothing lasting, I hope.’

 

‘No, no. It's nothing time won't heal. I’ll be right as rain in a day or two.’

 

‘Fishing, was it?’ Morse asks without having to think, because he’s in the business of asking questions and he’s aware that Max has a fondness for the water.

 

‘No, nothing quite as thrilling as all that. It was a falling box. I was tidying my shelves at home and then I just... had a little accident,’ Max says with a dismissive half-shrug.

 

‘Ah,’ Morse retorts quickly, but without any real heat. ‘Now you’re lying to me.’

 

‘Am I indeed?’

 

‘Yes, you are. Besides, you’re not the kind of man that has ‘accidents’.’

 

‘Aren't I? I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Morse, but, despite appearances to the contrary, I am most certainly not a god. Ergo, I  _ can _ have accidents. On occasion. To err is human, after all!’

 

‘Of course it is. But this isn't some accident.’ Morse says passionately.

 

‘Yes, you've said that before.’

 

‘And I'll keep saying it because it's true. You're hurt, and you're my friend, and now you're lying to me about it. That makes me worried, Max. That makes me very worried, in fact.’ Max’s eyebrows raise at Morse’s admission of concern, his round face warm and soft.

 

‘It's nothing, Morse. I assure you,’ Max offers quietly, staring down at the body lying between them. That’s when Morse realises. There’s too much space. The space between them is making it too easy for Max to lie to him. 

 

So, Morse takes it upon himself to move slowly around the table, reaching out a hand as he draws closer, intending to place it on his friend's shoulder to comfort him somehow, but Max seems to catch the movement of it out of the corner of his eye, much too late, and flinches away violently, as if Morse has struck him across the face. The shock of the pathologist’s reaction stops Morse dead in his tracks. And - as Max’s cheeks flush a violent, painful red - Morse has a revelation. 

 

‘It was a person. It wasn’t a box. Was it? Someone has hurt you,’ Morse says then, his hand suspended at elbow height. He allows them both a moment of silence before he adds, very carefully, ‘Max? I need you to tell me exactly what has happened. I need to know who it was that has hurt you, you understand? You know I’ll find out, one way or another.’

 

Max looks up then, his eyes unnervingly wide, no doubt wondering in Morse is about to launch a full investigation into his private life.

 

‘I won't tell anyone else, not another soul if you don’t wish it,’ Morse says then, his face flush with sincerity. ‘I just want to know that you're okay, that you won't come to harm again. That’s very important to me. Very important.’

 

Max doesn't reply to that, in fact, he seems to be caught up in deciding what to say for the best. Or what not to say.

 

‘Max, can I…’ Morse hesitates, half-gesturing awkwardly, before he smiles sadly at his friend and says, ‘Can I take a look at it, at least, your arm, I mean? Please.’

 

‘ _ Why _ ?’

 

‘So I can make sure that you're okay, that's all. That's all I want to do, I promise.’

 

‘It's fine. I  _ am _ a doctor, Morse.’

 

‘I know, I know you are but, please, just so I don't spend every waking moment worrying about it?’

 

‘It'll be fine in a few days. That wasn’t a lie, Morse. Please, believe that. Even though perhaps you have no reason to believe anything that I say.’

 

‘I do. I believe you. But... if it's all the same,’ Morse tries with a lopsided smile, and Max seems to give in instantly, moving carefully to take off his knitted vest. 

 

There’s a pained grimace as he removes his bow tie, abandoning it by a half-jar of formaldehyde, and soon after the doctor is slowly unbuttoning his shirt. His hands seem heavy but they’re not clumsy. He’s never clumsy, not even when he’s in pain. Morse looks away, to the far corner of the room, hoping that that at least will remove some of the invasiveness, however silly that may seem. It’s important to Morse that this doesn’t hurt Max further.

 

‘Well,’ the doctor says then, with forced levity, his fingers still working on his small opalesque buttons. ‘I never imagined the police would be strip searching me today. What next, shall I bend over and cough for you too, detective?’ 

 

That makes Morse wince, makes him turn back around, an apology spilling past his lips, ‘I'm sorry, Max. I'm so sorry. Please, believe that I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable. I'm not trying to be unkind.’

 

‘I know that, Endeavour,’ Max says sadly, in an apology of his own making, as he reaches out to touch the detective’s forearm. ‘I don't think you have it in you to be unkind, not intentionally.’

 

‘Sorry,’ Morse says again anyway. ‘I just care for you a great deal. And now I need to help you. I have to. You’ve always looked after me, haven’t you?  _ Always _ . And I could never forgive myself if I didn’t do the same now.’

 

‘Thank you, Morse,’ Max offers quietly, slipping his arm out of his sleeve, turning so that Morse can view his injury in full; his face turned away, so he’s eyeing up the bottles that line the shelves, even though he’s not really seeing anything at all.

 

‘Max!’ Morse exclaims as soon as he takes in the mottled bruise that seems to consume the entirety of the doctor’s upper arm; the pathologist jumping at the unexpected crescendo of his friend’s exasperated voice. ‘This will take more than a day or two. It practically black!’

 

‘But the arm will be free to move again. And... then I’ll be able to forget,’ Max says in a whisper.

 

‘And what - exactly - is it that you need to forget?’ Morse says then, his own voice barely audible.

 

‘Do we not all have things that we would rather keep to ourselves?’ Max utters sadly, and Morse slips the sleeve back up and over the nasty bruise, surprising the pathologist who had half-expected Morse to stare at the mark for a while. What’s more surprising, however, is the unexpected tenderness with which Morse begins to button his friend’s shirt.

 

‘Yes. I suppose that we do. But I need to know that this won’t be happening again, that this hasn’t happened before. That this hasn’t been happening to you and I’ve not seen it,’ There’s a guilt in Morse’s voice, mixed with a tangible fear, that makes Max smile warmly up at him.

 

‘Then rest easy, Endeavour. For this was the first and, hopefully, last time anyone has done this to me.’

 

Morse smiles sadly at that, as he works on the last button of Max’s shirt and says, ‘You were jumped then?’

 

‘I’m afraid I rather had more of a hand in it,’ The doctor offers slowly, after a telling pause, as his cheeks start to heat again.

 

‘It was someone you met?’ Morse asks, reaching out for Max’s bowtie.

 

‘Hmmm,’ Is all that’s offered in reply. 

 

‘Ah,’ Morse says then, as if a light bulb has just been switched on in his head. ’You were looking for company.’

 

‘One gets rather sick of the salmon and the trout. Sometimes I just need to feel like I -’

 

‘No.  _ No _ , don’t do that. Don't explain it away. We all seek out company, at one point or another, we’re not suited to being alone too much. We’re all just flesh and blood, even you and I, Max.’

 

‘Quite,’ Max says, allowing Morse to help him replace his knitted vest.

 

‘And there nothing else? No other injuries you’re hiding away from me?’

 

‘No,’ Max smiles softly, ‘We were… we were kissing one another, and there was a bit of heavy petting, but then… then he got a little violent. He had a tremendous hold of my arm, but I managed to get away, I smacked him in the face with a rather thick book about rigor mortis. I never could resist a little nighttime reading.’

 

‘Good,’ Morse says quickly, wholeheartedly, with a grin that matches the doctor’s. ‘I reckon he was due much more besides.’

 

‘Perhaps, but I was just so glad that he left me alone. Although, he did leave me a little worse for wear. I may have pulled my heaviest bookcase across the living room, so that it blocked the door. Which didn’t help my injured arm any. Then I may have moved my cabinet in front of the window. And I barely slept a wink, I think my brain just shut down around four o'clock.’

 

‘You could have called me, you know? I would have come. Night or day. Rain or shine.’ Morse says then, reaching out to press a hand against the centre of the pathologist's back.

 

‘I know, but I was embarrassed; I’d been so stupid. And I didn’t know how to explain it. Not to you.’ Morse tuts at that, but it’s not meant to be unkind and there’s absolutely no malice in it.

 

‘Max, I would have come anyway,’ He says quietly. ‘Listen, should you even be at work today? You must be exhausted.’

 

‘Thing is, Morse..’ The doctor says then, his body growing increasingly tense beneath Morse’s fingertips, as if he’s slowly turning to stone before him. ‘The thing is, I'm rather afraid of going home again. And I know -’

 

‘I’ll come with you then, if you’d like. I'd actually prefer that I did.’ Morse offers quickly.

 

‘You don’t have to do that, Endeavour,’ Max counters, almost too evenly.

 

‘I know. But if you wouldn’t mind my company altogether.’

 

‘I… thank you,’ Max says eventually, before turning to look up at Morse, his face full of gratitude.

 

‘Just tell me when you’re ready and I’ll make sure that I am too. I’m sure General Duties can survive without me. Besides, there's a bug going around that I could probably make good use of,’ Morse says with a mischievous smile.

 

‘Okay,’ Max says. 'I'll phone you when I've packed this poor fellow away for the day.'

 

‘I'll look forward to it.’ Morse smiles, nodding his head once before he excuses himself.

 

‘Until then, mon ami,’ Max says, then he looks down at the body on his table and sighs. 'Sorry, but it looks like we'll have to reschedule.' 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to make this part it's own chapter.
> 
> Morse has to make his excuses to Thursday.

Morse looks too serious when he hangs up the telephone, his hands automatically moving to straighten out his already smooth jacket. His bright eyes falling down to his desk - where they stare at nothing in particular until his contemplation is interrupted by a friendly voice.

‘Everything all right there, matey?’ It’s Strange, watching him from the door, observing him really, wielding an armful of thick files and a sympathetic smile, his own journey through their office paused.

‘Hmm? Oh. Yes, _yes_ ,’ Morse says quickly, with what he hopes is increasing certainty, smiling and clearing his throat before he adds, ‘Yes. Everything's perfectly fine.’

Strange inclines his head a fraction, seems to consider his colleague's statement, seems to chalk it up against what he can see with his own two eyes, then he hums and walks to his desk. Case closed. But the way his gaze keeps flickering towards Morse tells him that he's not entirely convinced.

 _I'm going to have do better than that_ , Morse thinks, peering over to Thursday’s door.

When he takes another breath, it's deep enough that it gives him the boldness to stand. Then Morse is standing there, knocking against the wood grain with his knuckles. His heart pounding in his chest.

As he waits, he can't stop his finger and thumb from tugging at his ear. Staring at his own feet for what seems like a lifetime before Thursday’s voice ushers him inside.

Morse closes the door behind himself very carefully, as if it's made of thin, cracked glass and then he waits again. This time for Thursday to look up from the multitude of paper scattered far and wide across his desk.

But he doesn't look up, instead Thursday just sighs and says, ‘Well, Morse?’

‘I need to go home, sir,' Morse begins, a little too fast. At least, fast enough that Thursday looks up at him and frowns.

‘Do you, I wonder,' He offers, but there's no question in it.

‘Yes, sir, I think I’ve that nasty bug that’s doing the rounds,’ Morse says, and as soon as the words have left his mouth, he hears how unconvincing they seem.

‘You’ve not gone the funny colour,’ Thursday says, his voice high, almost amused, dropping the papers he had held in his hands so he can draw them together instead. He's paying Morse good attention now.

‘Perhaps not in this light, sir,’ Morse smiles but he's starting to feel like a naughty schoolchild facing his headmaster.

‘I see. You don't seem to have the sore throat either,’ Thursday says, a mischievous eyebrow raised. He knows that Morse is lying, and he knows that Morse knows he knows it.

‘Oh,’ Morse coughs, eyes wide as he pauses, trying to gather himself a little before he says, 'I can feel it coming on though and I don’t want to infect the others.’

That seems to be enough pretence for Thursday who huffs and says, ‘Pull the other one, Endeavour, what's this really about? You got somewhere else to be, have you?’

‘Now that you mention it,’ Morse tries weakly, a useless hand coming up as if to offer an explanation that has no intention of forming.

‘You’re gonna have to say more than that to convince me, lad.’

‘It’s private, sir,’ Morse says quietly, unusually so, even for him, and Thursday’s face seems to transform before him.

‘What's this? Private you say? Not your sister I hope?’ Thursday offers quickly and Morse offers him a lopsided smile that is open to be interpreted as a grimace.

‘No, sir. It’s nothing like that,’ Morse says honestly.

‘Then what is it like?’ Thursday asks, with a gaze that all but forces the truth out of his throat.

‘A close friend was.. hurt by someone, sir, and I said that I would -’

‘What close friend? You barely talk to me, Morse, and you're my bagman! So, who _exactly_ are you talking about?’ Thursday asks then, as bewilderment starts to settle across his face.

‘I can’t say, sir,’ Morse urges but, of course, that's not enough.

‘Endeavour.’ Thursday warns, but Morse can see it, as plain as day, how he's harbouring concern more than anything, more than his frustration.

‘Truly, sir. It would be a kind of betrayal,’ Morse says, and his cheeks begin to burn.

‘Look, I’ll let you go if you tell me why. You know I’m discreet. It won't leave this room, you have my word on that,’ Thursday says tenderly, in a way that Morse is sure he must reassure his children, but he can't bring himself to reply until he says, ‘ _Endeavour_?’

‘It’s… it's Doctor Debryn,’ Morse says and he looks instantly guilty, he feels guilty, even though he knows Thursday will keep his word.

‘What? He’s been assaulted?’ Thursday says then, as his brain tries to catch up, his eyes wide as they search Morse’s.

‘Yes, sir. In a manner of speaking-’ Morse replies, with some evenness. Feeling more confident now that there's no lie to tell.

‘When did this happen, he seemed fine on the phone this morning?’ Thursday asks quickly, his palms now flat against his desk. As if he's just a word away from leaping up and throwing on his hat.

‘It was last night, sir,' Morse offers plainly.

‘Is he all right, Morse?’ Thursday wonders aloud, and Morse nods.

‘He will be, he's just..’ Morse wavers, trying to explain without really explaining.

‘He’s just what?’

‘He’s just afraid of going home alone,’ Morse says with a sad smile.

‘Does he live with someone?’ Thursday asks then and Morse frowns. Not understanding.

‘Sir?’

‘Is there someone at home hurting him, Morse?’ Thursday clarifies, one of his hands clutching at the edge of the table.

‘Oh. No, sir. I believe it was more of a … chance encounter,’ Morse says with a frown.

‘ _Christ_.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You’re sure he’s all right?’ Thursday says, his eyes pleading with Morse not to lie to him this time, as if he wouldn't see straight through it anyway.

‘He’s a bit bruised but, other than that, he promises he's okay.’

‘And you believe him?’ Thursday asks, an eyebrow raised.

‘Yes, sir,’ Morse says firmly, and it’s the most confident his voice has sounded since he entered the office. ‘I believe him.’

‘Okay, look. Take the rest of the day. Look after him. And, if you need to, take tomorrow as well,’ Thursday says easily, despite his face being a storm of thinly veiled emotion.

‘But I have all of the paperwork to-’ Thursday waves his concern away.

‘It won't hurt Strange to do it for a day and, besides, we look after our own here. And God help me if Max isn’t the best of the lot of us. All I ask in return, is that you phone me later to give me an update,’ Thursday finishes with an uneasy smile.

‘Thank you,’ Morse says, his hand coming up again. ‘Thank you, sir. Thank you, _Fred_.’

‘Off you go then,’ Thursday smiles, his mind racing as Morse turns away, heading for the door. ‘Oh, and Endeavour. If there’s any chance we can find the bastard who hurt him..’

‘I’ll let you know,’ Morse says lowly.

‘There’s a lad. Mind how you go,’ Thursday says and, when Morse is gone, all the inspector can think about is Max. His paperwork abandoned for the rest of the day.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Warning notes: Max is physically assaulted by a guy he takes home. They don't have sex. All of this is discussed but not in great detail. There's no non-consensual sex. Max is left with a badly bruised arm and a significant amount of anxiety. Love will prevail. Always.


End file.
